#much sweet

When you find him in the kitchen, with a blanket falling half off his shoulders, he’s got the sink running and is just staring at the water, looking entirely out of it. You pause for a moment to watch, sort of exasperated that he’s gotten up after you told him to rest.

(You can’t really blame him, though. Any kind of fever messes with one’s head. A fever messing with the head of someone whose Quirk is half ice and half fire has to be all kinds of unpredictable… and uncomfortable.)

After a few seconds, he reaches out his hand and touches the stream of water. As expected, it freezes instantly, into a misshapen icicle that he breaks off from the spigot. Though it takes a moment, the water starts to flow again, and Shoto gives a small, congested hum as he admires his handiwork.

You let a quiet snort leave you before you walk forward, setting a hand on his shoulder. “Shoto?”

He turns slowly, and even when he looks at you, he’s not quite focusing. His expression is tired, face pale except for the flush in his cheeks and the red, chapped rawness of his nose. Were he not obviously sick, you might mistake him for a zombie. “For you,” he rasps, offering the sort-of-icicle in your direction.

“Aw, it’s lovely. Thank you, sweetheart.” You take it so you don’t seem like you’re refusing a gift, and you’re sure to be careful as you set it in the sink. The next order of business is to brush the back of your hand against his forehead to gauge his temperature. It’s been fluctuating strangely since he got sick; one minute he’s be sweating bullets, the next he’s shivering uncontrollably.

As soon as your skin makes contact with his, you swear you see steam rise up with a hiss. Shoto softens in an instant, relief passing over his features. That answers that. He’s burning up.

With that, you gently wrap your arms around his shoulders, adjusting his blanket in the process. “You shouldn’t be out of bed, Shoto. Let’s get you back, okay?”

“I’m sorry.” He readily leans into you and tries several times to clear his throat. “I don’t… feel well.”

“I know, I know. That’s why you should be resting.” You stroke his hair as you walk, pressing a light kiss to the side of his temple. “My poor baby.”

Those beautiful lashes of his blink slowly, trying to fall closed despite his stubbornness. “Will you stay with me? Just… just until I fall asleep.” A few coughs rattle inside his chest. They must be painful, because he winces. “… I can’t… sleep… without you anymore. I keep waking up and… and you’re not there… and I miss you…”

If you weren’t already melting, that does it in an instant. You can feel your whole self physically soften in response to your boyfriend, someone who usually has trouble opening up even to you, saying so plainly that he misses you when you aren’t there, that he craves your comfort especially when he feels so badly. “Honey…” Okay, he gets another kiss.

You open the door to his room and gently guide him toward the bed. The sooner he lies down, the better. “Of course I’ll stay with you. You don’t even need to ask — all you ever have to say is that you want me with you.”

He nods, allowing you to help him under the blankets. “… Yeah…” he sighs as he shifts around. “I want you with me. I don’t feel better, but I… feel… better… when you’re here.” His head rolls back with a groan. “Ugh. That sounds stupid. My brain isn’t on.”

“Pff!” That sounded awfully silly, which isn’t something you often get from Shoto. There’s at least one good side to the fever. “That’s okay. You’re sick; your brain doesn’t have to be on right now. Hey, let me,” you add once you see him trying to fumble with the sheet.

Within a minute, you’ve got him tucked up in the covers, and although he’s probably going to have to kick them off in half an hour or so, for the moment he looks pretty comfortable. “There we go.”

You continue to run your fingers through his hair. With each pass through, you can see his eyelids fall just a little more, until his eyes are closed completely. The sound of his wheezy, congested breathing fills the silence between you, and gradually, a small, tired smile forms on his face as he does his best to relax.